


Pet

by ChaoticRice



Series: The Burden of Rule [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 711 OV, Complicated Relationships, Family Issues, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticRice/pseuds/ChaoticRice
Summary: Larsa reflects on one of his last memories of his father.





	Pet

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 711 Old Valendia.

Larsa never thought he would spend his evening in the Hall of Portraits, and yet, there he was, looking upon regal postures, flowing robes, and stiff faces of emperors past. There weren't many; after all, in comparison to the entire history of Archadia, House Solidor's rule was but a blink of an eye. Lord Gramis was only the fourth Emperor of House Solidor, and Vayne, although his rule was short-lived, was the fifth. 

Next to the portrait of his brother was an empty space on the amber wall: a space reserved for Larsa’s own portrait. Judges and Senators alike implored Larsa to get his portrait painted shortly after his inauguration, but he refused. Every year he was asked, and every year he would put it off without a thought. Perhaps, he felt… he didn't deserve one.

Everything he had was his simply because he was born into this world a son of House Solidor: The privilege of living in the Imperial Palace, with all the protection, knowledge, and comforts available at his disposal, as well as the respect from the people of Archadia, the assistance of palace workers and guidance of senators and judges alike. He did not work nor fight for this; he did nothing to deserve any of it.

The Emperor of Archadia. It was a title he thought he would never have, and a title he inherited because his father’s life was taken unjustly – taken by Vayne.

Had Vayne deserved to live? Was it not by Larsa’s own hands, along with the others, that Vayne’s life was taken? Who was Larsa to decide who was worthy of living, when his hands were just as stained as his brother’s?

Perhaps red hands were a family trait.

Larsa focused on his father's portrait. Lord Gramis had it painted shortly after his inauguration. His ash brown hair matched Larsa's own, and his eyes looked just as weary - if not more so. Perhaps Larsa resembled his father more than he thought.

He always expected he would follow his father's example – not as Emperor, that role being reserved for Vayne – but as a nobleman of House Solidor. _We are taught to place the needs of others before those of our own,_ he had often told people, and he believed in and lived by those words since the day his father first taught him the history of their family. However, after learning the true horrors of imperialism, he could no longer see his father's triumphs in Nabradia and Dalmasca as honorable, and he was left wondering if his father was ever a man worth aspiring to be.

“What kind of a man were you, truly? Did I ever know at all?” He said to the portrait.

The only reply was the deafening silence of the empty hallway.

There was no answer, no path to lead him out of the moral labyrinth he was lost in.

Larsa wished his father had gotten another portrait painted later in his life. Born as Lord Gramis’s fourth son, and to his third wife, Larsa had never known the late emperor in his youth. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture his father as he remembered him.

Larsa recalled one of his last memories of his father. It was shortly after his return from Bhujerba.

\--

After he had met the Dalmascan orphans Vaan and Penelo, along with their allegedly fallen Princess who was in fact alive, followed by two sky pirates and the knight who reportedly killed King Raminas, Larsa had many questions he needed answered. 

He could not ask these questions freely, however. Unless he wished to be confined to his bedchambers for eternity, relinquishing his freedom to travel as he willed, he would not disclose his cooperation with those whom his father considered enemies. 

Perhaps he would recount a more harmless meeting, then.

And so he would tell him of the girl: Penelo.

The guards opened the doors to the Emperor’s office, and Larsa stepped through. Upon a raised throne, Lord Gramis sat tall, his royal robes and diadem as decorative as they were intimidating. Archadia’s emperor rested his laced hands on his desk, his shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath.

“Welcome home, my son,” Larsa’s lord father greeted him with a smile, the warmth of it akin to the red sky beyond the windows behind him.

Larsa proceeded further into the office, his steps slow and smooth, masking his trembling heart within. He craned his neck to look his father in the eyes as he stopped a mere three paces away from his desk. “Father,” he said. “May I speak with you?”

The fondness in the Emperor’s eyes remained. “As you wish,” he said, and then glanced at the door guards. “Leave us,” he commanded.

“Yes, your Excellency,” the guards nodded in obedience, closing the doors behind them as they took their leave.

Lord Gramis took another deep breath, the sound as coarse as Dalmascan sand. “I trust your journey to Bhujerba proved most fruitful, especially so after ensuring Ghys could not stand in your way.” His soft expression curled into a knowing smirk.

Guilt pressed Larsa to gulp, and he wondered if his father could hear it. _Ghys has already told him of my escape; far too long have I delayed this visit._ “I understand I placed myself in harm’s way when I disobeyed your orders to remain at Ghys’s side. I only wished to see Archadia’s source of magicite with my own eyes. Please forgive me.” Larsa bowed his head.

“How could I place blame on you for pursuing such raw curiosity?” Gramis said. Larsa dared to look up again to see that his father... didn’t look angry. “As well, I see it was not in vain that I ordered Gabranth to instruct you in the art of swordplay; there are vile creatures in those mines, no doubt. I raise all my sons to become decisive and powerful men; you are no exception.”

Could he truly be so easily forgiven?

Larsa exhaled, the air he held so tightly flowing smooth and steady out of his lungs. “Thank you, father.”

“Is that all that troubles you? Or does another burden hold your shoulders so tensely?”

Larsa took another breath, making sure to relax his shoulders on the exhale. “There is something else that troubles me: something I’ve heard.”

Lord Gramis leaned forward, holding all his weight on the arms of his chair. “Go on,” he permitted.

“After leaving the Lhusu Mines, I met a girl from Dalmasca,” Larsa began, taking note of his lord Father’s slight lift of his brows at the mention of Archadia’s newest territory. “She told me awful things: that many children were orphaned from the Battle at Nalbina, and of the mistreatment of Rabanastrans by the Imperial Guard. They are starving, father, and they have been forced to live underground in unsanitary conditions. Why didn’t I know of this? Why don’t our people know of this?”

Larsa watched the warmth in his father’s eyes disappear as though all the light of hope was stolen from him. “I see there is no fooling you. I expected as such; your mother’s intellect was keener still than any Judge’s blade, and now it lives on in you. Very well.”

Larsa’s inhale was sharp, and he held his breath, allowing his shoulders to tense despite his better judgement.

The Emperor sat upright, lacing his hands together once again. “As you are aware, an emperor’s duty is to serve and protect the people of Archadia, as we each swear to do on the day of our inauguration. This includes protecting our people from truths they cannot bear. You see, the citizens live their lives one day at a time; their worries center on their recent past, their present, and their immediate future. This is all they can manage. Knowledge of war and governance can be overwhelming for them. It is our duty to bear this burden in their stead.”

Larsa lowered his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I understand,” he sighed.

“I had hoped to grant you but a few more years of such blissful ignorance, however, it appears your patience wears thin in such idle peace.” Gramis’s sigh was heavy. “Will you grant me the disappointment that my son has grown so quickly beyond my knowing?”

“Of course,” Larsa permitted, guilty for upsetting his dear father. _You are ever tasked with bearing all the burdens of Archadia, after all._

Their reunion was not as he feared; his father wasn’t angry with him. Finally, Larsa felt he could breathe easily.

However, now that the lens of anticipation no longer clouded Larsa’s vision, his father did not appear as the Emperor he remembered. He did not hold himself as tall, and his robes hung more loosely, quivering along with the slight tremble of his tired arms.

“Larsa,” Gramis said, “I –” 

The Emperor’s cough was a vicious and ruthless beast that attacked his lungs, leaving him close to collapsing.

As his father’s wheezing echoed throughout the chamber, Larsa felt terrified and helpless. “Father!” He called, holding out a useless hand. On instinct, he grasped onto all he knew of healing. He ran up the steps and around the desk to his father’s side, holding a potion to his lips. “Please drink this,” he pleaded.

Gramis drank the potion slowly, clearing his throat afterward. “I fear that soon enough potions will no longer suffice,” he said.

“Have you seen a physician?”

“I have seen many physicians over several months,” Gramis said, grasping the arms of his chair to pull himself upright with all his strength. “None of whom have found a cure, I’m afraid.”

Larsa felt as though his heart would pound out of his chest. “I had no idea…”

Gramis lifted his gaze to Larsa, his smile weighted with guilt. “Another burden I wished to spare you.”

“Father…”

\--

Larsa blinked rapidly, the image of his father’s portrait blurring as his eyes swelled, until finally a tear escaped, trickling down his cheek. His throat was tight as he swallowed.

_Far too long did I remain in the dark - all on your will, father. Unbeknownst to you, my innocence did not protect me. Rather, it left me unprepared, and raised a wall between us._

_It was not the people you would protect by withholding that knowledge; you were only protecting yourself and House Solidor. If the Archadian people had known the truth of it… your rule would have been challenged._

_And so I vow this: to protect the people of Archadia, not from the truth, but from deceit and ignorance._

_I love you, father. And on my love I swear to you I will be a better man._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was originally written as a scene for an upcoming chapter of my other fic, [“The Burden of Rule,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026977/chapters/32306253) but I thought it could work as a standalone piece. (Edited to remove spoilers for that fic, of course)
> 
> Named after “Pet” by A Perfect Circle, which I highly recommend that you look up the lyrics for, as they are highly relevant to this story, and I’ve always associated it with Larsa’s storyline in Final Fantasy XII.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a review. Anything helps!
> 
> \---
> 
> [I'm on twitter!](https://twitter.com/shellayrice)


End file.
